


Upon a Midnight Clear

by sori



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-18
Updated: 2005-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sori/pseuds/sori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Lex; Christmas and eggnog</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon a Midnight Clear

  
Awaiting  
Clark is leaning against the door jam, casually, like it’s not almost midnight on Christmas Eve. “Merry Christmas, Lex,” he says, holding out his hand and wiggling a carton of store-brand eggnog.

“Right,” Lex says, because obviously Clark’s here, at his penthouse in Metropolis, when only thirty minutes ago Clark had called him from the phone in his parent’s kitchen. Yet, after five years of friendship with Clark, Lex has learned to roll with the unexpected. “Merry Christmas.”

Clark strolls inside the penthouse, jacket hanging open, cheeks red, hair windblown. He stops at the edge of the tile foyer, toes off his work boots, letting them fall haphazardly. Red mud, almost clay-like, wet and still flaking off, splatters across the floor. Smallville mud, Lex realizes; from the Kent Farm, he knows.

It’s not all that surprising when Clark heads back toward the study. After four months at MetU, it’s become his favorite room in Lex’s home. With dark paneled walls, long leather couches, and big roomy armchairs it’s somehow the urban blended with the rural; it’s mostly Lex, but it’s the Lex tempered by the years in Smallville. Lex tries not to notice the Smallville High Pennant on the bookcase or the telescope at the window or the two extra sets of Nike Airs stuffed in the corner.

Clark is already lighting the fireplace when Lex walks in through the door. He’s looking down at the flaming logs and for once he’s not complaining about the _wrongness_ of fake logs and gas flames; instead, he’s staring at the flickering fire, hands in his pockets, mouth curved softly in a smile. Lex clears his throat and Clark looks up, nodding his head toward the wet bar in silent request.

“Eggnog?” Lex asks, carton still in hand and already moving toward the counter to pull out two glasses. Cheap eggnog, but still that wonderful vanilla smell that calls to mind family kitchens and the warmth of traditions. Clark nods and Lex pours, full glasses since it’s Christmas and this maybe seems to be a Christmas tradition that Clark is willing to share. He hesitates, before reaching for the brandy snifter and pouring a few fingers in his glass. Clark smiles and shakes his head when Lex holds up the brandy, questioning.

“No thanks. I have to run home later,” Clark says, but there’s a tremor in his voice and his eyes won’t quite meet Lex’s from across the room.

The brandy sloshes as Lex sets the snifter down with a too hard thump. _Run?_ , he could ask; _an odd choice of words_ , he could say. Lex checks his hand – not shaking, a good start – before carrying the drinks over to where Clark has sprawled on the sofa. “Well, of course. It’s never good to drink and run.” Clark sits up a bit, taking the glass of eggnog and drinking it in two long gulps.

“Can’t stay long,” Clark says, rising from the couch and shrugging into his jacket. “My parents don’t know I’m gone so…”

Clark is telling him something big without actually telling him anything new at all. It’s a gift, small and almost unnoticeable, and if the night hadn’t already been about small revelations, Lex would have missed it. “Better hurry, then.” Standing up, Lex moves toward Clark, rests a hand on his shoulder and says, “It’s Christmas and you don’t want your parents to worry.”

Clark nods and heads toward the door. He pauses as his hand reaches for the knob and turns back, tossing a thin envelope at Lex. It flutters for a moment in the air, dancing and twirling and Lex thinks he’ll have to go pick it up off the floor, when it gusts toward Lex on a rush of air. Clark waves as he leaves, and tosses out a barely audible “Merry Christmas” before disappearing out the door and down the hall.

Lex waits for a second before opening the envelope. He’s greeted with a plain piece of notebook paper, scribbled with strange markings that look – vaguely familiar, vaguely known, but he can’t quite place where. It isn’t until later, when he’s tossing his shirt in the hamper and hanging up his pants, that he thinks of an unknown metal and an octagonal shaped disc.

* * *

Yearning  
Lex opens the door to Clark, shakes his head and says, “Merry Christmas, Clark. It appears we may have started a tradition.” He doesn’t think Clark realizes that Lex hasn’t had a Christmas tradition in more than a decade.

Clark smirks and hands the carton of eggnog to Lex. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve and instead of explaining, Clark says, “I think that’s the point,” before toeing off his boots, scattering mud across the tile. “Merry Christmas. It’s cold outside.” Smiling, Clark pushes past Lex and heads toward the study.

The fire is already lit this year, and even Lex admits it’s more ambiance than practical warmth, but Clark had seemed to like the fire last year and Lex had spent the evening hoping that maybe –

“Pour you a drink?” Lex asks, following Clark down the hallway and pretending not to notice the tight jeans, far tighter than any in the Smallville days of yesteryear, and the same flannel shirt still being worn after almost two years in Metropolis.

Nodding his head, Clark flops down on the sofa, spreading his legs out across the cushions and letting his head fall back on the armrest. “Feels good in here.” Stretching back, Clark settles more deeply into the cushions and watches Lex at the wet bar. “Can you add in some brandy?”

Lex’s hand stills, hovering the brandy snifter over his glass. “You want brandy?” He asks, because this is Clark and he’ll probably be _running_ home later on and maybe this evening is starting to go from somewhat expected to slightly surreal.

“Yeah,” Clark says, tugging down the hem of his tee shirt and tossing Lex an amused look. “I think I’ll stay awhile this year. If that’s okay.” Lex can hear the question that’s really not so much a question – Clark knows he’s always welcome – as much a need for affirmation.

 _Yes, please stay; I want Christmas with you,_ Lex wants to say; instead, Lex tilts his head and answers by pouring some brandy into Clark’s favorite tumbler.

Clark doesn’t move when Lex walks to the couch; he keeps his feet on the cushions and a smile on his face and it’s _almost_ a dare, _almost_ a challenge. Lex shrugs, grabs Clark’s feet and lifts them up, sliding in under Clark’s size 12’s and settling comfortably against the leather. He sighs when Clark rests his feet across his lap, pressure along his thighs, warmth along his back, comfort in his soul.

“So.” Clark says, launching into a story about his last week in Smallville: Martha still baking, Jonathon still grumbling, Lana dating the new production manager at the factory, Chloe staying in New York for the holidays. Lex would like to say he cares – but he doesn’t, not really – he’s more interested in the way Clark carefully holds his eggnog and the gentling of his tone as he talks of his friends. Regret there, maybe, for days when things were simpler and he didn’t have to wait for national holidays to catch up with his friends, but Lex can hear that it’s regret tempered with maturity. Life changing and people growing, sometimes together and sometimes apart, and Clark seems to be okay with that in a way that Lex didn’t think possible.

Sprawled out on the couch, Clark seems comfortable here, touching Lex and sitting with Lex and just being _here_ , in the moment. With Lex. Instead of a friendship made up of moments between classes and on weekends, they have created something else entirely. The guest room is officially Clark’s, with his bedspread and his books and, shockingly, his laptop that he stores on the small desk Lex bought for the room last month. Anymore, he spends more nights here than he does at his dorm room.

For two years, Clark has broken barriers and squeezed himself in closer, deeper into Lex’s life and Lex’s home, taking over the empty spaces and making them his own. As often as he moves closer, though, he still keeps a distance, some invisible line that Lex is hesitant to breach. He doesn’t want to break the balance they have already found.

Lex long ago accepted that his life would somehow always involve _waiting_ for Clark.

The sun is starting to rise, just a low glow of color, obscured by clouds and camouflaged by city lights, when Clark finally moves his feet from Lex’s lap. He shrugs into his jacket, brushing out the imaginary wrinkles and patting his pockets carefully. Lex stands, watching all the movements, and remembering that he won’t be seeing Clark for another two weeks, until the new semester has started at MetU and the holidays are nothing more than a memory.

“Lex,” Clark says, and for the first time Lex hears hesitation in Clark’s voice.

“Clark, look -“ Lex starts, but Clark raises his hand and moves forward with a purpose. He stands in front of Lex, looking down and holding Lex’s eyes, demanding that Lex listen – demanding, like he’s always known Lex was Clark’s for the asking.

Lex can feel Clark’s hand cup his cheek, his thumb brush softly along his jaw line. He feels the heat from Clark’s body as he leans closer, almost close enough to breathe into Lex’s ear, “Merry Christmas.” He feels a box pressed quickly into his hand and his fingers close around it instinctively. He shivers a bit when Clark steps back, separating their bodies and letting cold air rush between them. Bereft of the warmth, Lex’s body sways and Clark steadies him with a soft hand on his shoulder.

“I need to go.” Clark says, his body already mostly out of the door. Lex doesn’t move until he hears his front door shut and the elevator doors close with a silent hiss. From the Cathedral in the center of Metropolis, Christmas bells ring, echoing through the city in bursts of sound. Lex sees a blur outside his window, a bird maybe, but rather large and he only notices because the Christmas lights catch on the body and dance across the colors.

He sets the box on the coffee table in front of the leather couch, letting the fire flicker on, not bothering to turn off the gas and extinguish the flames. It’s Christmas Day and for just a brief moment, Lex can say that he spent Christmas with Clark. He leaves the carton of eggnog tipped over on the floor by the couch and the half-empty snifter of brandy on the table, tangible memories of the holiday.

Later, when Christmas Day has ended and he’s half-drunk on the remaining brandy, Lex opens the small box and looks at Clark’s Christmas present. It’s a small octagon with strange markings, markings that are now more than vaguely familiar. The metal is cool to the touch and Lex thinks that it looks a lot like answers and more than a little like possibility.

It looks exactly like Lex remembers.

He wraps it carefully back inside the box and tucks it into the pocket of his pants. Tomorrow, he’ll drive to Smallville and leave the box in Clark’s loft. Some gifts are best safeguarded elsewhere.

* * *

Revealing  
It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve and Lex opens the door before Clark knocks. Clark holds out the carton of eggnog and a cheap bottle of brandy and says, “Merry Christmas,” before stepping through the door and wrapping Lex in a kiss.

Licking into Lex’s mouth, Clark is hungry and demanding, easy and familiar. He touches the back of Lex’s neck, wraps his arms around Lex’s waist and pulls them together tightly, so close that not even secrets can slide between their bodies. Clark’s hair is windblown, his cheeks are red, his jacket hanging open and slightly wet. He smells like vanilla and tastes like sex, maybe more than a bit like love, and Lex opens his mouth and decides that this is a new Christmas tradition he can embrace.

“Finally.” Lex says around Clark’s kiss, pushing Clark’s shoulders back and tugging off his jacket.

* * *

Embracing  
Firelight flickers across the room, Christmas lights dance on the ceiling, a carton of eggnog lays forgotten, tipped over and resting against the leg of the coffee table. The room smells of cinnamon and spice, the faint echoes of brandy, and the musky layers of sex. It smells like home and the holidays.

Lex wraps his arms around Clark, holding tightly, letting their bodies move together, easily, familiar after a year of discovery. It’s Christmas Eve and Clark and Lex lay on the floor of Lex’s penthouse, fingers entwined, bodies thrusting, soft groans and moans giving new wonder to Christmas spirit. Lex can feel Clark’s body holding him tightly inside, Clark’s grip on his hand dangling on the edge of pain.

“Merry Christmas,” Clark says on a moan. Out of breath and moving, he reaches up and winds his fingers across Lex’s head, pulling Lex’s mouth down. Tracing Lex’s lips with his tongue, licking around and inside, tasting of eggnog and vanilla. Clark shudders, and Lex thrusts harder, pushing up and away and hitting just that right spot that sends Clark spiraling out of control.

“Fuck.” Lex can hear Clark’s low moan, speeds up his thrusts and sends them both over the edge with a hard push and a sharp bite on Clark’s shoulder.

Lex collapses down on top of Clark’s body and Clark’s arms wrap around his shoulders and down to his waist, holding tightly. Lex presses a wet kiss to Clark’s neck then lifts his head. “When do you have to leave for Smallville?”

“I don’t. Not tonight, anyways.” Clark wraps a hand around Lex’s neck, capturing Lex’s eyes with his gaze. “I told Mom we’d be there in the morning in time for breakfast.” There’s a soft small on Clark’s face, a smile Lex has gotten to know well over the last year sharing a bed.

“Oh,” Lex says, a little surprised, because Christmas was once about holiday warmth with his mother, then after, a pervasive loneliness with his father, and later – much later – stolen moments with Clark. Now it appears that Christmas may be changing yet again. He can only imagine what Christmas Day at the Kent’s is like. “Breakfast?”

“Mmmm...,” Clark’s hand wanders across his back, smoothing across damp skin. Lex can feel Clark’s body relax, sinking into the carpet, maybe fighting sleep against the warmth of bodies and fire. “Breakfast, then lunch. Christmas dinner. And presents. Can’t forget the presents.” Clark says, his breathing evening out.

“Christmas dinner…,” Lex says, not able to keep the amazement from his voice. He smiles, wraps a leg around Clark’s ankle and lifts himself up enough that he’s able to wind his hands through Clark’s hair. Soft kisses along the Clark’s jaw, sighing at the scrape of stubble, and Lex licks into Clark’s mouth leisurely. “Yeah. But Clark, please tell me that I won’t be forced to drink another glass of eggnog.”

Clark opens his eyes and looks up at Lex, eyebrows quirked and smile bright. “No eggnog?”

“Hate the stuff.” Lex says, distracted, nibbling on Clark’s lips and enjoying the feel of Clark’s fingers tracing soft circles on his ass.

“Yeah, I know.” Clark’s chest rumbles as he laughs, rolling them over and pinning Lex against the floor. He grinds their bodies together and captures Lex’s mouth with a smile and a bite. “But you’ll drink it for me, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2005 Challenge using the prompt _Someone duped the eggnog_. This is where I admit that I _totally and completely_ failed to adhere to the _spirit_ of the prompt. The story was supposed to be far different, then of course REAL LIFE rained havoc upon me and...the spirit of drunken Clex was lost. Instead, we have schmoop. But there is eggnog!
> 
> Beta thanks to audrarose! (Years later, Smallville is still her fault.)


End file.
